It was completely made of glass and wrought iron, an addition off the side of the house, the brick wall behind him the only solid wall of the structure. And exactly as in a jungle, there were lush plantings everywhere he looked. Palms and other varieties of exotic tree reached to a high glass ceiling where stars could be seen peeking through the clouds. The conservatory was thick with humidity, precisely as he’d always thought a jungle would indeed be like, and there was the sound of running water in the distance. The Amazon, no doubt. Where on earth had that come from? Gideon was not prone to fanciful notions and this was the second to night.
“I promise it is quite civilized. I assure you there are no wild beasts lurking behind the banana tree, although I do have a few specimens of carnivorous plants which would be most menacing if you were an insect.” She cast him a flippant grin, then started down a pathway paved with flagstones, just wide enough to accommodate the width of her skirts. Gas sconces provided a dim but adequate light. “Come along.”
“I should hate to be left behind. I would never find my way,” he said under his breath.
It was at once overwhelming and most impressive, as if he had stepped from the order of London into the chaos of the tropics. Judith’s wealth was obviously greater than he had imagined. She led him along the walkway lined with ferns and more palms and all sort of things blooming in wild and distinctly disorganized profusion. There was the scent of something sweet in the air. Jasmine, he thought, and who knew what else. His offering of the orchid now struck him at the very least as understated. It was like offering a pretty colored stone to the keeper of the crown jewels. He resisted the urge to glance down at the poor plant to see if it was wilting in the embarrassment of its inadequacy.
The path opened up to reveal a white marble fountain. Tall, it reached well above his head, with water splashing from three tiers into a circular basin, but it was not particularly wide, no more than five feet in diameter. Beyond the fountain he could see the flagstones continue. He hadn’t noticed before but the path was lined with wood-planked tables, almost completely obscured by the potted plants positioned on the surfaces as well as on the floor.
Judith skirted the fountain and stopped before a table covered with what he assumed were orchids in a startling variety of shapes and sizes and colors. Sympathy stabbed him for the orchid he carried, although he was feeling a bit wilted himself, at least where his confidence was concerned.
She took the pot from him and placed it on the table in a lone empty spot between two similar orchids. He drew his brows together and stared. Two very similar orchids. In fact, if he did not know better, he would swear the three plants were much the same.
“Good God.” He gritted his teeth.
She grinned.
“I shall have to kill Helmsley.”
Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “I understood he was a very old and very good friend.”
“He was. Nonetheless I shall have to kill him.” He narrowed his eyes. “I am not only confident he will understand but I would wager he expects it.”
She laughed. “Lord Helmsley was here yesterday wishing to purchase one of my orchids, although I have never sold one before, for what he said was an excellent cause. A good deed, as it were. I, of course, being the generous soul that I am, refused to take any compensation. After all, it was for a charitable purpose, and I can always use another good deed to my credit.”
“As can we all,” he muttered. “Perhaps I shall allow Helmsley to live.”
“That would be a good deed, although mine was a significantly greater sacrifice and I am quite pleased to have the plant back.” She turned toward the array of orchids. “Of all the curious and fascinating plants I have filled this conservatory with, the orchids are by far my favorites.” There was a note in her voice, a look in her eyes when she gazed at the flowers, and the thought struck him how fortunate any man would be to have that note and that look reserved for him and him alone. “They are magnificent, don’t you think?”
He stared at her, at the curve of her neck and the creamy smoothness of her skin. “Magnificent.”
“I should very much like to see them in their natural habitat. They grow by the thousands in Colombia. I intend to travel there one day to see for myself. It shall be a grand adventure.”
“Indeed it shall.” His gaze strayed to the low cut of her gown, within the bounds of fashion yet provocative and enticing. “The grandest of adventures.”
“They’re considered quite erotic, you know.” Her voice was low and thoughtful. “Not at all the proper thing for a lady to grow. It’s feared that we may become quite overwhelmed by passion at the mere sight of the blossom.”
He swallowed hard. “One can only hope.”
She glanced at him. “Do you fear I shall become overwhelmed by passion?”
“It is my most fervent prayer.” He grinned.
She turned toward him. “What, precisely, did you and Lord Helmsley discuss?”
“Only your likes and dislikes. In regard to an appropriate gift,” he added quickly.
“You said there was nothing of a personal nature. By that I assume you mean an intimate nature.”
“Indeed there was not,” he said staunchly. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because that would take all the”—he thought for a moment—“the adventure out of it.”
She raised a brow. “The adventure?”
“I have never been a man who has especially sought out adventure, at least not since my youth. But I have never met a woman who, without warning and without reason, has made me feel…Yes.” He nodded. “An adventure. A grand adventure.” Even as he said the words he realized that was exactly how he thought of what ever might happen between the two of them. “My dear Judith.” He stepped closer and took her hands in his. His gaze met hers. “I wish to discover your likes and dislikes, those of a personal nature, even an intimate nature, for myself.” He drew one hand to his lips and brushed his lips across it. “I shall never hunt orchids in South America or explore the jungles of Africa but I fully intend to explore what ever this is between us.” He lifted the other hand and kissed it. “And you.”
“I see.” Her voice had a seductive, breathless quality. “And when do you intend to begin your…your exploration?”
“This”—he pulled her firmly into his arms—“seems like an excellent time.” He bent his lips to hers, and she reached up to meet him without hesitation. Her lips were soft beneath his, and warm and every bit as delicious as he had known they would be. For a moment time itself seemed to stop, and he lost himself in the feel of her lips against his.
Without warning the passion that had simmered between them erupted. He pulled her tighter against him. Her mouth opened to his, and his tongue met hers.
She wrenched free and stared at him. “It’s only lust between us, sheer, animal lust. You do know that, don’t you?”
He nodded. “Indeed I do.”
“Good.” She grabbed the edges of his coat and jerked his lips back to hers. She tasted of all things exotic and delicious and intoxicating. And kissing her would not be nearly enough.
His lips left hers and trailed along the edge of her jaw and down the curve of her neck. “Nor do I expect anything…anything…” She shuddered beneath his touch. “More.” The word was but a sigh or a breath.
“I can accept that,” he said against her skin. Her head dropped back, and she braced her hands on the table behind her. He kissed the hollow of her throat.
She gasped. “This does not imply a…a commitment of any sort between us.”
“I don’t expect one.” His mouth traveled lower, toward the invitation of her breasts straining at the confines of her bodice. If he were the type of man to indulge in fantasies, this would certainly be one of them. The scent of the tropics in the air, the warmth of a summer night in the midst of winter, a beautiful woman in his arms. Although in his fantasy she wouldn’t be dressed in the latest fashion with volumin
ous skirts and layers of clothing not even the most skilled of men could easily dispense with in the heat of passion. Why had men ever allowed women to give up the simplicity of the clothing worn by the Greeks? He could probably unfasten a toga with his teeth.
“We scarcely know one another.” Her voice was heavy with desire and scarcely more than a whisper.
“I intend to remedy that,” he murmured, nuzzling the valley between her breasts.
Still, while he had never especially wished to know a woman before he shared her bed this—Judith—was a decidedly different matter. Perhaps his passion was coloring his judgment. He snorted to himself. There was no perhaps about it. Reluctantly he raised his head. “Do you think we should know one another better before we…well…first?”
“Undoubtedly. It would be the wise thing to do. However, at this particular moment”—she smiled up at him in a distinctly wicked manner—“we know enough.” She threw her arms around his neck and pressed his lips to hers.
Her ardor caught him off guard and he stumbled backward, flaying his arms to regain his balance. He held on to her with one hand and caught an upper tier of the fountain with other. Water cascaded down his arm and splashed over them both with a shocking thoroughness.
Her eyes widened, and she stared up at him. “I daresay I have never had my enthusiasm doused quite like this before.”
Still, she didn’t pull out of his embrace. “And is it doused?”
“Well, we are rather wet.” She reached up to brush her lips against his. “I should think if we don’t get out of these wet clothes quickly we shall surely catch nasty colds.”
He smiled slowly. “We are not all that wet.”
“Nonsense, we’ve been doused. We are soaked.” Her lips against his, the promise of her body through layers of clothing, and any hesitation that might have lingered within him vanished. “And one should never take chances with one’s health.”
“Then Judith, by all means”—he gazed into her blue eyes and smiled—“let the adventure begin.”
Chapter 3
I t was shocking. Completely shocking. She would never have believed it possible.
How on earth had they managed to get from the conservatory all the way up the stairs to her rooms without his having had his way with her on the conservatory floor? Or in the endless corridors? Or on the stairway? Or in the library or the ballroom or any number of other rooms they had passed on their way here? Although there had been a moment or two when she had thought, when she had wanted, when she had hoped…And even more shocking yet: how had she kept from having her way with him?
Judith’s back pressed flat against the door to her rooms and she gasped for breath, not that she particularly cared about breathing. Gideon’s lips were everywhere at once: on her mouth, her throat, her shoulders. She twined her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and urged him on, her free hand groping for the door handle.
Good God, she’d never known passion like this before. Even with the handful of men she’d taken to her bed it had always been, well, civilized. Intimacy had always followed a prescribed course: flirtations, outings, intimate dinners, and lengthy preliminaries. And while relations had always been satisfying, she had never before felt she would surely die if the gentleman in question did not take her. Right now. This minute. Take her? Dear Lord, she’d never wanted to be taken before!
She caught the door handle, turned it, and the door gave way behind them. They fell into the room, tumbling onto the lush carpet, their fall cushioned by her skirts and petticoats, and she scarcely noticed. He kicked the door closed with his foot, and a part of her mind not thoroughly fogged with passion admired his skill. His arms wrapped around her, her legs entwined with his. Dimly, she noted a sharp repetitive noise and ignored it. She existed only in the touch of his hands and the heat of his mouth.
Without warning, he wrenched his lips from hers and lifted his head. Confusion shone in eyes dark with passion and absolutely irresistible. “What is that?”
“What?” She pulled his head back to hers.
“That infernal noise.” He braced himself on his hands and raised his head again. “Bloody hell, it’s a dog.”
Only now did the noise she had noted earlier become distinct. So much for passion. “Oh dear, I completely forgot about Arthur.” She heaved a frustrated sigh, pushed Gideon aside, and sat up. A small, white, adorable ball of fur leaped into her lap, put his paws on her chest, and swiped a lick at her chin. “Good evening, dearest.”
Gideon sat back and stared. “It is a dog, isn’t it?”
“Of course it’s a dog.” She sniffed. “A quite wonderful dog.”
“It looks like a furry rat.”
“Don’t be absurd. It—he—is considerably larger than a rat.”
“Not considerably. A dog—a real dog—should stand about, oh”—he held his hand at the level of his shoulder—“this tall at least and have some sort of purpose. Hunting or retrieving or”—he glared at the dog—“ratting.”
Arthur’s lip curled upward in a slight snarl.
“Arthur has a purpose. He is a faithful companion and provides unconditional affection.”
Gideon studied Arthur, and Judith could have sworn Arthur returned his perusal. Neither dog nor man seemed especially impressed with the other. “Are you sure it’s not a rat?”
“He is not a rat, nor does he look like one. Arthur is a bichon, a very old, very noble breed. Bichons have been owned by kings and painted by the finest artists in history.”
“Rat painters no doubt,” he muttered.
“I daresay if I needed him, he would defend me with his life,” she said staunchly. She hadn’t the vaguest idea if Arthur would indeed come to her rescue, although he had on occasion been known to nip at the heels of a newly hired servant.
“I know I would fear for my life if he were aroused,” he said solemnly although there was a distinct twinkle in his eyes. “or at least for my ankles.”
“You are not the least bit funny.” She picked up Arthur and set him firmly on the floor. “Arthur, go to bed at once.” Arthur obediently trotted across the room and jumped into his basket. “Gideon—”
“If you are about to command me to bed, I warn you, I shall not be nearly so quick to go alone as your Arthur.”
She stared at him. It was astounding how quickly passion could vanish when confronted by a yapping pet. And even more shocking how swiftly it could be reignited with nothing more than the look in a man’s eye. The right man, perhaps? The right man for the moment, she amended. “Would you be so good as to help me up.”
“Certainly.” He scrambled to his feet and reached down his hand. His hair was rumpled, his clothing askew, and he might well have been the most desirable man she’d ever seen. She grabbed his hand, and he pulled her up and into his arms.
“Gideon.” She sighed his name, drew his mouth down to hers, and closed her eyes. His mouth lingered on hers, but she had the distinct feeling his thoughts were elsewhere. She opened her eyes. “Gideon?”
His lips remained against hers but his gaze shifted. “This room is pink,” he said in the same manner one might say, “That horse is brown,” a simple observation of fact that nonetheless implied that there was something innately wrong about brown or, in this case, pink.
She drew back and looked at him. “It’s not just pink. It’s white and gold as well with touches of green, I might add.”
“It’s primarily pink and it’s…it’s…I don’t know.” He glanced around the room. “Frilly. Fussy. Overly feminine.”
“I am overly feminine,” she said firmly. “And I don’t see the least bit wrong with it.”
Her gaze swept the room, over the chaise with its rose-colored brocade upholstery, the white and gilt Louis XV furnishings, the pastel Aubusson rug, the flowing rose and green drapes, and of course the bed, large and cushy and, in her mind, delightfully decadent, with a brocade coverlet that matched the chaise and a canopy swathed in rose and green silk. Va
ses filled with fresh flowers from the conservatory were placed strategically around the room. Most of them were neither pink nor white nor gold but a myriad of colors and admittedly not quite in keeping with the room, but she loved them nonetheless. Certainly it had been years since she had had the room decorated, and admittedly there was a pinkness about it, but regardless it was quite lovely.
“It looks…I don’t know.” He grimaced. “Like a…a flower in here. I expect to see butterflies or bees or even a fairy flitting about at any moment.”
“Nonsense. There are no butterflies or bees or fairies, although one or two might be quite charming.” In spite of her words, she conceded, if only to herself, the room was perhaps the tiniest bit extreme. She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “I like it.”
He shook his head, turned her around, and started unfastening the hooks on the back of her dress. “This is not a place for a man.”
“It’s not supposed to be. It’s mine. My sanctuary, as it were.” She felt her bodice loosen. He was really quite skilled at this, quick and deft.
“Yes, well, your sanctuary is rather intimidating. All this femininity.”
“Don’t be absurd.” What else was he skilled at? Desire pooled in the pit of her stomach.
“How do you expect a man, any man, to perform successfully in here?”
“Perform?” She started to tell him other men had not found it especially difficult, then held her tongue. She knew, although she wasn’t sure how she knew, but she knew he was not like other men. Nor would this be at all like anything she’d experienced with other men. “Like an actor?”
“No, not like an actor. More like a…” He paused to find the right words. “A thoroughbred. Yes, that’s good. Very appropriate.”
“A thoroughbred? A race horse?” She tried to force a note of indignation to her voice, but it was difficult to be indignant when one was mentally counting the number of hooks opened and the number yet to go. She thanked what ever stroke of foresight to night that had prompted her to don less than her usual number of petticoats. “I daresay I have never thought of any activity involving a man in my bedchamber to be even remotely akin to a race.”
A Little Bit Wicked Page 4